


Retribution

by FakeCirilla9



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Asami Ryuichi, Enemies, M/M, Mary Sue Asami Ryuichi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, implied Asami/Akihito, low-key hate towards the main pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: "I’ll make you pay for what you did to Akihito"A PWP one-shot set somewhere after the events on the ship in Hong Kong
Relationships: Mikhail Arbatov/Asami Ryuichi
Kudos: 19





	Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> As is widely known and still figures in my bio here, I love Mikhail Arbatov. But I also happen to like hurting the characters I love.
> 
> A lot of fandom for inexplicable reasons hates Misha, so I guess they should enjoy seeing him suffer a bit too.
> 
> So maybe this is a story for each and every one in this fandom ;)
> 
> Okay, I'm shutting up already. Enjoy this self-indulgent piece of depravity:

Mikhail entered his hotel room in a state of minor inebriation. To his credit, he did wonder why the doors were opened while he had locked them up before. But it quickly escaped his mind, especially as he thought it’d be a bigger problem to fumble for the electronic card that served as a key. The handle gave away easily and he walked in.

He stopped dead in his tracks as inside the dark bedroom, illuminated only with the artificial lights from the street, in an armchair he saw a dark silhouette. Familiar silhouette.

“Ryuichi,” he said with a pretended nonchalance. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He crossed the room, keeping a wary eye on his opponent but the other man did not make any threatening gesture, nor did he say anything in answer.

“You could have given me a call beforehand, I’d prepare for seeing you.”

“I don’t doubt that,” muttered Asami.

“Ah,” Mikhail was at the cupboard already, pulling out next drawers and keeping the distracting talk. “You know, I’d have some liquor to offer… Now I’m not sure if I’ll find anyth-”

“If you’re looking for this, you can stop,” said Asami coldly and there was a click of uncocking a revolver hammer from behind Mikhail’s back.

The Russian straightened and turned around slowly. Asami was aiming at him with his own weapon, his precious _nagan_. Man, a barrel trained on him never failed to sober him up at once.

Asami had made himself comfortable in a leather armchair. He sat there, with a gun in one hand, a glass of brandy in the other. Like a fucking picture from the 'Godfather'.

“I see you helped yourself with everything already,” commented Mikhail sourly.

The Japanese stared at him, looking as if he wondered what to do with him. He swirled the alcohol casually while keeping the gun pointed at Mikhail’s heart. Mikhail didn’t like the situation stretching out.

“What is it you want from me?” he asked. There must be something or the Yakuza wouldn’t waste time.

Asami, not taking eyes off his target, drowned the content of the glass and put it away before answering.

“I’ll make you pay for what you did to Akihito.”

Mikhail laughed.

“Oh no, seriously? Is it still about your pet? Man, you’ve got some heavy issues.”

The blonde saw the effect his reaction had on Asami, the anger glittering in gold eyes, the fingers tightening on the gun; but he pressed on.

“Pay, you say? So how much is it you want for a little play with your bitch? Ten, twenty? He wasn’t that good, you know. Though it was obvious by his cute reactions you still trained him.” Mikhail didn’t stop even as Ryuichi darted from his seat and advanced on him. “Oh dear, did I interrupt your fun of turning him into a sex slave-?”

The moment Asami was at him, Mikhail’s head snapped to the side under the stinging backhand of a ringed hand.

He pulled his head back, licking the blood from the corner of his lips where Asami’s signet cut his skin. He shook his head to swipe back the bangs that fell into his eyes.

“There is nothing for you to be laughing about now. Acknowledge that or I’ll teach you that and not in a nice way.”

“Wow, I didn’t suppose you’ll be that hot for a mere pet. Not that it’d stop me from yanking down his pants before all my men, of course. Is that why you’re here? He came whining to you, telling about all the bad things we did to him?”

Now the answer was the gun barrel put to his temple and the cold, quiet voice, demanding:

“On your knees.”

“You’re not serious,” said Mikhail incredulously.

Asami’s poker face told him that he was.

“What? Is that teen fucktoy of yours so inexperienced you need someone else to perform a blowjob on you?”

The gun resting on the side of his head fired. Mikhail flinched when the trigger was pulled, only later registering it was unloaded. He opened his involuntarily shut eyes to meet Asami’s golden gaze.

“I believe this is what they call Russian roulette. Did that convince you I’m dead serious? Other slots are loaded. Now be a good boy and turn around.”

Mikhail did so. If the Japanese was willing to start a war for his little sex toy, he would not waver from shooting one man in revenge for the boy also. He couldn’t stay silent, however, he would not give up on harassing the other man in words at least if they were his only left weapon

“I thought you wanted me on my knees, not like this.”

He felt Ryuichi’s presence behind his back, the sensation both threatening and arousing.

“All in good time.” Asami pressed even closer to him. Mikhail heard a rustle of his clothes. “I’d screw you,” the brunet said calmly, “if I didn’t fear you’d enjoy it far too much. Give me your hands.”

The gun, _his_ gun, pressing at the nape of his neck aborted any resistance. Mikhail felt a touch of metal on his wrist and a cuff closed there with a click. Soon it was attached to the other one. Ryuichi operated the shackles with a surprising ease, even if he had only one hand free to do the work.

***

The Russian was already half-less annoying when showed his place, thought Asami, directing the other guy to his knees by a firm touch on his shoulder and a cold press of the metal barrel to the blonde’s temple. Asami never removed the revolver, even as he unzipped his trousers with the other hand.

“God, the boy must be really unsatisfying for your needs. For you to be that desperate,” commented Arbatov, looking up into his eyes instead of on the cock springing free just before his face.

“Put your pretty mouth to better use,” Asami cut him off.

“So you think my mouth is pret-” Arbatov didn’t have a chance to finish his question as the cock was unceremoniously stuffed past his opened during talk lips, “mhph.”

“That’s better,” observed Asami, pushing steadily further. He didn’t care if the other man was okay with it. That was supposed to be punishment after all. “You deserve it, you son of a bitch.”

Mikhail actually backed away. Strange as up till now the Russian madman didn't look very much against it. Asami would prefer to scare him more but the lunatic apparently would gladly do it with anyone. Bad for him, not excluding Asami’s property.

“A curious insult, ain't it? Like a bitch could not love her son. While she can be a better mother than a high positioned man was ever a father...”

Asami frowned at him, wondering briefly if there was something more behind the usually empty words of his enemy. But Mikhail leaned forward and took him in again and all the thoughts disappeared under the mist of pleasure as the Russian took all of it at once; deep throated like a professional bitch himself.

And who knows? They had all kinds of backgrounds in this world.

But no, he liked sex too much for someone forced into prostitution. Were too much of a tease, too honest in flaunting his body. Even now, looking at him from under pale lashes he managed to provoke with that insolent stare still, when being at his knees before Asami, sucking his dick at gunpoint.

None too gently Asami grabbed his hair (which had a perfect length left for that as if the cut was measured for such a purpose). Mikhail uttered some constricting sound that did marvellous things to Asami’s cock. Yet he still did not look anything other than pleased with himself.

Asami got rougher in a way he tried not to be with Aki in recent times, at least not in this position. And it felt good to actually force someone, to don't care in the slightest about his feelings, only wanting to hurt him, to punish him for what he had done.

It didn't hurt the blonde was not unpleasant to look upon. Especially like that: underneath him, shut off his from his usual babble. When he was quiet and restrained Asami reflected that he might even not dislike him.

And it was much to what Asami craved in bed: that domination, that sense of authority. That was why he lived such a life, always on edge of death and danger. It was like the rush of putting a gun to someone's head, seeing fear in his eyes before offing him. Like passing one word or speaking half-threats to an official and getting the legal decision he wished for. But best of all, the power tasted in its most simple and primal form: in bed, forcing someone, keeping immobile, bound with his impressive BDSM equipment, utterly at his mercy. And the position allowed to cover it all. Someone may go to the police once in a while but if enough policemen were in his pocket...well. Case died before it ever reached a higher instance.

Mikhail was not going to the police. Shoot him, more likely, but Asami could deal with one Russian, not completely in his right mind to that.

Who now slumped a bit under his force. The lack of oxygen might do him more swoony.

The little stifled gasps of breath added to the rush Asami felt.

Arbatov’s hands clenched in their cuffs.

Asami even wrenched a bit of a struggle from him when holding him pressed nose to his abdomen for long enough. It was not a real struggle. It wasn't all these muscles could afford surely. Perhaps Arbatov didn’t want to force his hand still clutching the gun. But it was only natural that a man started to panic when there was nothing to drag into the lungs burning for an inhale.

Asami let him looser only when the blue eyes started glinting.

Scarcely a longer leash and the insolent foreigner put his tongue to good use, teasing, dragging at the downside, sucking and suckling and, _fuck,_ okay, that was good. In few and far between moments like these he wished for someone more experienced than Akihito.

Mikhail certainly was experienced.

And Asami was nearly forgetting his anger, almost about to let his wrath go under the tide of incoming pleasure but the fucking Russian tease suddenly let him slip out of his lips, robbing him off the pleasurable heat and moistness. Wetness stung with coldness in the room temperature, so much colder than Arbatov’s body had been.

“I can see you’re hungry for a real sex after loitering your time training that sex toy of yours.”

Asami hit him. This time, with the barrel of the gun, not wasting the time to spin it and hit with the butt.

The Russian’s head went to the side in an abrupt jerk. Blond mess of wavy hair spilled falling all over the face, the cruelly mocking eyes, yet still a smile flashed there like a pearl on the ocean bottom. He had the cheek to _smile_ still as if he was the one winning their duel despite every sign that Asami was the one in control here.

The anger was back. A haze of red mist of hate before his eyes darkened his vision yet in the gloomy room. Asami seized the fiend and without any presence wrenched head back to his crotch. He didn’t care if he tore a strand or two. He didn’t care to brush back the too-long bangs that got in Mikhail’s eyes. It wasn’t like the other’s comfort mattered here.

Asami only wanted to _hurt_ him and now all the more since the Russian reminded him his degrading manner he treated Aki with.

Asami thrust to hurt, hitting the back of the throat, riding the frantic jerks and gag reflex.

Arbatov held himself through it but didn't smirk anymore, too busy trying to catch his breath. He didn't have much place of applying his tricks anymore but he got his teeth in check.

Asami didn't much care. He liked it rough and if he got scratched a little… It was not like Aki would ask, always shy, preffering it in the dark.

But Arbatov didn't bite him. Asami enjoyed his supplicant posture, his visible discomfort, the way he tried to hold still in one place and how Asami’s movements hindered him in that. Asami relished in the utter mess of Arbatov’s pretty face: with sweat and strands of hair clinging to the skin, getting into eyes, irritating. The chin was wet with saliva and maybe a bit of precome was smeared there as well. And most of all, Asami liked the little hitching noises the other man made, the strangled, cut off half suck ins of breath that was not there to get. They only teased Asami’s cock further.

It was nearly too much and like that – embarrassingly quickly – he came down the other’s throat. He didn't give him any warning; just grabbed his hair tighter and held immobilised even as the Russian jerked once, only once, then waited slouched, until the last spasms of Asami’s body died down.

Asami didn't hurry to let him go. He pulled out slowly, enjoying how a strand of slimy come hung between them for a moment. Hands still cuffed, Mikhail couldn't even wipe himself and Asami held his face up by the chin, admiring his handiwork.

But the asshole, quicker than Asami’s pleasure dazed body could react, pressed his face closer to the hand, wiping what he managed upon Asami’s perfectly white sleeve.

The Japanese threw him with disgust, bitch-slapping for a good measure (which did not turn out so satisfying as more of the mess stuck to his palm). He wiped it carefully with a tissue, don his trousers and looked perfectly presentable again if not for the drying patch crusting the sleeve’s wristband unpleasantly.

“Not even a thank you? I bet you tell that boy of yours all kind of sweet things and for all the pillow talk I get insults.”

“Perhaps you didn't deserve better.”

“Didn't I?” Arbatov’s smile was lewd. His tongue slid out to gather some of the white drops still remaining there.

Asami felt an unwanted return of arousal, which made his eyes drop to the Russian’s pants too tight to hide his state.

“Look at you, playing so cool and getting hard for being treated like trash.”

“Who says I wasn't enjoying it? You're quite hot.”

Asami did not comment, focused on trying to pull his jacket sleeve over the hideous stain.

Mikhail sighed theatrically.

“Okay then. Since my obvious charm does not work on you anymore once you got what you wanted, you could uncuff me now.”

Asami levelled him with a cold gaze remembering Akihito’s bruised wrists, bruised neck.

“I have no intention of doing so.”

“Are you going to leave me like this?”

“That's right. Cheer up, Arbatov. I'm sure your men saw you in worse conditions many times already.”

With that he left the room.


End file.
